


Point Zero

by kuro49



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 17:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Absence can only make the heart grow fonder, Charles and Erik learn that as the point between rage and serenity becomes an old wound that doesn't heal with time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point Zero

**Author's Note:**

> Mainly inspired by Kill! Kill! Kill! by the Pierces.

It all starts when he decides to play hero for the first time.

He meets a man underwater and encounters a tragic mind filled to the brim with anger and misery.

Charles lies flat against the king-sized bed and the room is quiet. He doesn't feel his legs, he doesn't feel the supposed ache. He only remembers Erik's magnetizing powers working itself inside of him, the searing pain of the bullet's movement as it tunnels it way back from where it has entered.

And that has been it.

The very last sensation before everything goes numb. (On the sand and the beach that they have last lost sight of the other. He had been paralysed with fear, he thinks now.)

Lying among the soft sheets and even softer pillows, Charles is left all on his own. He knows Moira sits at the kitchen table with a cold cup of coffee and eyes staring intently at the hand responsible for pulling the trigger. While deep within the confines of the properties, Alex is burning his anger into the dry red bricks just as Sean stands at the bottom of the satellite and keeps his voice all bottled up inside.

He doesn't need to reach out, he just knows.

Much like Hank, (after losing everything that can be lost, there can't be anything left), he has become his own ultimate test subject. And then he injects another needle into his veins.

In a way he can connect to other human minds, he can also isolate his own.

000

Like a deadweight that sits heavy at his mind, Erik has always known that they are both idealists standing on the opposite side of the spectrum.

There is never a method to forget.

That's why he consistent finds himself thinking of the other.

Like a door that he forgets to lock, Charles slips into his mind like the ghost of a recurring dream.

He runs his hand through his hair because miles and miles away, he doesn't need to be a telepath to know that Charles won't be reading his mind anytime soon. (Frost hadn't been all that pleased if she couldn't share the extent of the details she knew, he can still tell.)

Because he knows that he isn't capable of doing a thing for the man.

Erik doesn't rush to see him. He will only evoke pain and anger, betrayal and hurt.

The reminder (Shaw's helmet) sits next to the chessboard in front of him. There is no blazing fireplace or a shared bottle of scotch. There is only a cold room and a watered down alcoholic drink that isn't really his taste.

He takes a pawn, lifts it from the board but finds no place he can put it, not even any of the 32 unoccupied squares. Because on the other side of that chessboard, there is no one, not even an empty chair.

He doesn't touch the drink Frost has offered him to take (in a place it on the table and walk away before you even enter the room type of way.) He only returns the pawn to where it belongs, smooth plastic gliding against his fingertips before it hits the board.

000

Charles contains himself in a bedroom surrounded by bookshelves, filled with thick volumes that have already been read from cover to cover. With barely another glance around the room, he knows he has lost a part of his youth.

He isn't just Charles anymore, he is also Professor X.

He thinks and he thinks, lying still against the bed as his brain works itself inside out. Charles comes to an answer (a subtle reason if stretched far enough) that explains the absence of anger and rage that should be consuming all the emotions in his head.

There is no way to see into what can happen. He can't read into the future, he can't have seen the stray bullet that Erik will deflect on instincts.

Erik may hold all the responsibility but there was never any blame.

He has been forgiven before he has even done the deed.

Charles closes his eyes and the tears in his eyes eventually dry.

He only needs the time to heal.

And then there is knocking at his closed bedroom door. Unlike Erik who can open and close, lock and then unlock, he merely calls out a simple 'come in,' and even then his voice sounds out in tones all too hoarse and dry. He licks his lips and waits with expectation.

It's Moira and she walks in with light footsteps upon thick carpets.

"Are you feeling better, Charles?" She doesn't comment on the wheelchair that she pushes into the room, just glosses over his condition with a pained smile.

He tries hard for her sake because he hardly needs to be a telepath to see the remorse rolling off of her in waves. He smiles weakly but makes no move to sit up fully. "Still a little tired from all the narcotics they pumped me with."

She nods and pushes the wheelchair right up to his bed, knuckles clenching hard around the handles. Moira isn't focused on him, she is concentrated on getting the words out.

"…Do you…wan—"

"Moira." He gently interrupts her with a soft call of her name. She quickly swallows everything because she is finally seeing and she sees the state that he is in.

Pale skin, tangled hair, she can even see the longing in his tired eyes.

"…I'll make you something to eat, try to get some rest for now."

She doesn't say anything else, just pushes the wheelchair to a far corner of the room and closes the door silently behind her.

Sometimes, Charles envies the human ability to understand without the capability for telepathy. He now knows it to be empathy but years ago, in his youth, he can't even begin to imagine such a word.

Because Professor X is once just Charles Xavier too.

000

A wooden chess game is what Charles has insisted on when they first sat down together on an evening drained of their physical training. Whether it is due to a fear that he will cheat or just a general preference, Erik has always let him do as he pleases.

Still, he only has a plastic set now.

Full well, Erik knows that Charles is capable of changing the world. (After all, Charles has changed his.)

And he, he can always start afresh.

The two of them can start at a brand new point zero, diverge ways, clash as rivals, and take on the world as a common enemy. Time will pass despite the slow days apart.

They will always have the same ability to remember (and never forget.)

He tilts his head back and the warmth that he feels is only temporal because as soon as he shifts in his seat, the heat that has gathered dissipates into thin air. He turns his head and finds a shadow by his door, all blue skin and deep mahogany hair.

"…Erik?"

Raven stands at the doorway with concern flickering in the iris of her golden eyes. She is hesitant and he strains to hear her speak.

"Are you alright…?"

He doesn't reply with words, he is so used to not needing the verbal aspect of the comfort. Charles is always projecting his worry through genuine emotions that wells up and overwhelms himself even.

Instead, Erik just nods.

Raven doesn't turn to leave, she stands at the doorway and they both know they are thinking of the same thing. She hasn't left, she hasn't seen, she has been trying to think of something, anything else really.

"…Do you think he's okay?"

Her question is soft and although she isn't crying right now, Erik can tell that she has been.

"If he needs us, he'll call on us."

He doesn't try to comfort her. He doesn't give her hopes or lies.

Raven faintly smiles, loneliness weighing heavy in the way she carries herself. Still, she doesn't stay long. "I hope so, Erik."

Her words are quiet, nearly silent. He won't have heard her if it isn't for the sadness in her voice. And then she turns from the doorframe and disappears with a few steps down a carpeted hallway of their temporal home.

He leans back into the armchair and runs a hand through his hair. With the silence hanging in the air, he is sure, everything will start to creep back into his brain.

Erik doesn't need Charles to enter his mind, he doesn't need his voice to surface from his thoughts. There's no permission or nudging. Not when he can do it all himself.

It doesn't take a thought before it is all Charles Xavier, an old wound that can't ever heal with time, he realises that now.

000

Since the day on the beach, it is all expectation, never anticipation anymore.

At the start, Charles can't tell whether this is a dream or a reality. Because there, in his room, is a familiar face in an unfamiliar costume, complete with helmet and even a cape that can bellow in the wind.

Erik stands at the centre of the room with no intention of moving, it isn't until Charles slowly pulls himself to sit up does the other walk a little closer. Charles can't help but smile, whatever pain that is left has already been numbed by the drugs.

He beckons him with an easy wave of his hand, he doesn't even try to get through the helmet.

"I hope you are well."

It is honest and genuine because as much as he wants to let the other feel what he feels, there are some things that words can express just as clearly. Erik takes a seat next to his bed and it takes little time for him to make his statement.

"…I did this to you."

"Truthfully, it didn't hurt as much as the coin though." He doesn't understand how he can joke at a time like this but his fingers are already tapping lightly against his forehead. But then again, he is never good with words.

There is never a need for it.

Erik stays quiet.

Until now.

"I apologize, that was insensitive." He looks down at his lap and sees the hand on his knees that he hasn't even noticed. His eyes widen as his heart gives a sharp clench in his chest. He swallows the lump in his throat and tries to change the subject with a light laugh that sounds just as wrong. "But really, I imagine my sister is doing alright?"

He sees Erik's fingertips gripping at his knee.

He doesn't feel a thing.

Charles lifts his gaze from the sheets and reaches out to Erik with two outstretched arms.

"Erik, take the helmet off."

His fingertips touch metal and Erik hasn't flinched away.

"We need this."

The other is hesitant but Charles also knows (not through telepathy, it is experience) Erik has always allowed him to do as he pleased. He only needs to wait a short moment before Erik is lifting his hands to clasp them over his own. There's warmth, one that only skin and human flesh can provide. They pull the helmet off and Charles can finally feel the familiar edges of Erik's mind.

They lean in so close, their foreheads touch.

Charles closes his eyes and brings his fingers to his temple.

Yet before his fingers can touch the skin, he is thrown back into the bed. His head doesn't hit the bedposts, he only hits soft pillows and even softer sheets but the yelp that leaves his lips is as genuine as the shock that resounds itself in his head (because Erik has never been physical with him.)

His heart is beating fast, he clenches his blue eyes shut as he waits for the first blow.

Only it comes in the form of angry words and disbelief.

Charles looks up because he really should have known. Erik can't ever hurt him through black and blue bruises.

" _We_ need this?" Erik puts on his helmet and the motion of metal sliding over light brown locks hurts more than anything Charles can imagine. But he doesn't stop, his eyes gleam darkly. "I don't need this, _you_ need this, Charles. You can't even bear to remember that you once had me for a friend, can you?"

There is a nasty snare to the way he enunciates each syllable.

"No, Erik—I don't…" He pleads with both words and mind but everything falls to the dark because Erik has already blocked him from his world. Tears prick painfully at the corner of his eyes.

"Because you are just that much of a saint, aren't you, Charles?"

His name from his tongue resonates in his head, like a constant reminder that will continue to beat him black and blue from within. Physical pain he can deal with, it is the invisible one in his heart that he can't ever heal.

The lock bolts, metal twisting just as Erik leaves. He doesn't know how, he doesn't see how, he just knows.

And then Charles is opening his eyes, there are no tears, only a parched sense of abandonment lingering all over as he lies flat against his bed.

Even though it is only his bedroom door that gets locked up in a dream, it has felt as though Erik has finally turned the entire world against him.

He turns on his sides with slight difficulties and sees the skies beyond his windows.

It is almost dawn.

000

And it is nearly three hours later that Erik comes to visit him for the first time. He doesn't wear the ridiculous cape from his dreams. Though, much to his disappointment, the helmet does stay.

His door unlocks itself.

He glances up from the book he is reading and waits patiently as the door opens itself. He is already sitting up in bed as he finally feels a physical ache in his back from lying flat in bed for so long. His body has finally flushed out all the narcotics in his system.

He can finally feel and he nearly all but beams as he sees Erik walk into the room.

"You know, I have been expecting you." Charles folds a corner of the book and tucks it beneath the covers of his sheets.

"So now, not only are you a telepath, you can also see the future?" Erik easily replies and the irony almost knocks the breath out of Charles, as will a punch to the stomach.

"Maybe, though I'll have to work at it."

There is a weak smile daunting at Charles' lips. And there are a billion other things to say but Erik refuses to see the problem and not point it out.

"You've never used this yet."

Charles doesn't follow Erik's gaze to the wheelchair pushed into a corner of the room.

"…Erik, I'm not ready."

He admits softly to the other but he doesn't seem to hear as the metallic wheelchair slowly floats above the carpets in his room before resting right by his bed.

Charles can't understand Erik's intentions.

"Erik, I said—"

"I know what you said." He walks right up to the back of the wheelchair and leans over to place a hand over the seat.

"I've put you here."

He doesn't say anything else, he only gives Charles all the time he needs.

So when Charles finally lifts the covers from his body, Erik lets out a breath he doesn't even know he is holding in. There is no help exchanged because they both know that this has to happen this way. And it takes a while before Charles is seated in the chair with beads of sweat damping his hairline.

"…Never again." Charles breathes out with a dark glare at his friend. His eyesight specks with black dots, his chest heaves and he feels as though he has run on for miles without a stop.

Erik, on the hand, simply smiles as he gives the chair a push.

"Let me take you out for some fresh air, Charles."

There are no protests, just a content silence as he settles further into the seat.

000

They are at the edge of the yard and the satellite faces them, like a witness to everything that they have gone through.

There are recollections that surface (like the gun that Charles couldn't pull the trigger to and the memory of Erik's mother that laid in the deepest corner of his mind) and they both stay still as they soak it in.

Their shared memories are the deep-set common grounds despite what they have lost and forgotten.

"I'm sorry for doing this to you."

His hands touches his shoulder and the words don't hurt as much as either of them has thought.

Erik tours around the wheelchair to stand in front of him. He puts a hand on Charles' knee but Charles only shakes his head and guides Erik's fingers back to his shoulder. His hands touch the bare skin of his neck and the gesture is almost too gentle, and then Erik stands up straight.

Charles doesn't know whether this is a replay of his dream but as Erik stands in front of him with his hands to his head, dreams overlay reality and Erik takes his helmet off in one smooth motion.

Charles doesn't know what to do as Erik presses the helmet into his lap.

"What're you doing now, Erik?" His eyes are wide, his fingertips gripped at the metal until his joints are a bone white and he tries so hard to make himself seem alright. The words don't stop and he can't find it in himself to stop the senseless babbles, he needs this. He knows he is smiling, he also knows it is painfully strained. "Is this some sort of invitation? Though as ridiculous as that helmet look, I would understand if you wanted to take it off—"

But Erik has already leaned down to capture his lips in mid-speech.

000

His mouth moulds into his and there are no teeth or tongues, just faint affection and chaste intensions.

Charles can read into his mind and Erik doesn't seem to mind.

He sees what he has seen and the familiar edges of Erik's brain is what calms Charles' head the most. Despite the gruesome images of his past, there are always constant flashes of their shared time. Whether it is their search for others like them or their training sessions, right here, back then, Charles can't help but melt into the kiss.

He faintly registers the hand at the back of his neck and the fingers that caress the ends of his hair.

Charles raises his hand, fingers bent just as they part.

And Erik sees him, wide blue eyes that shine for forgiveness and bent fingers posing dangerously close to his temple.

Charles doesn't bite his lips but he can feel his heart beating in his chest, it hurts to breathe, especially when he knows his resolve is not quite there yet, he almost wants to cry.

"Go ahead, Charles."

Erik doesn't look away from the pain, he only smiles, all lips and no teeth.

"You know I can't forget you."

And then he closes his eyes as he opens up his mind, unlocking all the bolts as though they are the only barriers between them.

Charles' fingertips touch his temple and his concentration dives into Erik's head. He focuses on all the memories of himself and the pain that the other feels. It is nothing physical, it is all psychological, an inner turmoil that has knitted itself deep into the depths of his brain.

The trust that Erik splays over the distance between them creates a firm defense line that Charles cannot cross.

And even though, he tries to comfort himself into thinking that this is a good thing, he can't help but remember the years of misery (apart.) When the only thing they have is the memories of each other from years ago, Charles knows his resolve is hardly even here.

He closes his eyes and murmurs in defeat.

"I can't do it …"

Erik takes the helmet from his hands, warm palms grazing across his skin.

"I know."

He whispers his understanding into Charles' ears. It is expected, they know each other too well. Charles doesn't open his eyes until he is sure that even Erik's words have dissipated into the air.

For now, he simple waits.

He thinks of him and that's when they both enter a state, a point in between rage and serenity.

A point zero where they find something that almost resembles peace.

XXX Kuro


End file.
